


Twenty Tropes

by Dork5ever612



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Character Turned Into Vampire, College Student Allen, Dancing, First Kiss, Flirting, Flowers, Human/Monster Romance, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Language of Flowers, M/M, Monster Hunters, Monsters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sassy Allen, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Slow Dancing, Tattoos, Tropes, Vampire Bites, Vampires, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-16 12:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dork5ever612/pseuds/Dork5ever612
Summary: The title speaks for itself! Each chapter will be a drabble of my favorite fanfic tropes, written with Hynequinn! There's gonna be fluff, angst, and plenty of aus— unfortunately, I'm not the type for smut, so you'll have to look elsewhere for that. Updates will be erratic at best. What happens after each chapter I leave up to your own imaginations b/c I would seriously turn these all into 500 chapter fics if given that power... Hope you like it!





	1. Go Back to Sleep (Like Friends)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Bed Fic

Their first case in almost a month, and it was already going downhill.  
   
They had been called to New Mexico, of all places, to dispute eyewitness accounts of a UFO encounter, only to find it packed to the brim with civilians. Reporters, skeptics, and all kinds of nut jobs had heard the news first and come running. The place was just about 100 miles west of Roswell, so of course the news would travel fast, but _geez._  
   
They couldn't get a reservation in quick enough, so they could only get one room between the two of them: thank God for the Generals on that one— without them they'd be sleeping in the car. Unfortunately, the Generals forgot to account for the fact they were _sharing_ said room, and reserved a room for one. One bed. One bath.  
   
“Well, on the bright side, we certainly have more space in here than in the car.”  
   
“There's only one bed, Allen.”  
   
“It's a Queen— and it's not exactly like we've never shared a bed before. I'm married, you're an eligible young bachelor, I'm sure you've had company on more than one occasion. There's no reason to be ashamed.” Allen swung past him” setting his bags down and sitting on the edge of the bed.  
   
“Well, yeah, of _course_ I've shared a bed before but—” He paused, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don't you think it's… a bit _queer?_ Sharing a bed with another man?”  
   
“Of course, but there's nothing to worry about. Our relationship is strictly professional, and it's only for a couple nights.” Hynek tilted his head, seemingly oblivious to the heat rising in his face.  
   
“Yeah. Totally.” He smiled thinly, lying through his teeth. _‘Strictly professional my ass. We passed that mark when we watched a man burn himself to death, if not earlier.’_ “Strictly professional.”  
   
He tossed his bags on the mattress, digging out an Air Force issued pair of sweatpants and t-shirt along with his toiletries.  
   
“I'm gonna take a shower, think over what we found about the case for a bit. You gonna want one later?”  
   
“Uh, no, I'll just get changed while you're busy in there. Take as long as you like.” Hynek muttered, shrugging off his jacket and sliding off that _awful_ red tie. Michael tried not to stare, giving him a terse nod and stepping into the tiny bathroom, heaving a heavy sigh after he locked the door.  
   
For as long as he could remember he tried to deny it. His perverse… _interest_ in other men. He'd thought joining the war would help him get over it but… well, spending countless days and nights surrounded by nothing but other men didn't exactly _help._  
   
He wasn't exactly smart back then.  
   
He tried to flirt more to combat it, but all that did was make him feel bad; like he was leading on those poor girls, making them want something he couldn't give them. He didn't know what to do; he couldn't talk to anyone about it for fear of being outed and losing his job, but that meant he couldn't get any help. If anyone found out he would be labeled a Communist and revoked of his position, and now he had to _sleep_ beside another man?  
   
He groaned, carefully disrobing and setting his uniform aside. Maybe Hynek would stay up to do some work, and he could fall asleep before he got in bed? But that left too much up to chance. Maybe he should just face the wall and try to ignore him…  
   
Whatever, he could just deal with it later.  
   
By the time he stepped out of the bathroom Allen was leaning back on the headboard, scribbling something in his notebook in his pajamas. Those stupid, adorable pajamas, covered in stars and constellations. He glanced at the captain over his glasses, smiling and turning back to his notes.  
   
“Did you run out of hot water?”  
   
“Uh, no, it's still warm. What'cha working on?”  
   
“The case…?” He looked up again, giving Michael an odd look. He felt the blood rush to his face once again in embarrassment.  
   
“Right. Duh.” He smiled, trying to play it off, taking a seat beside the doctor and leaning to look at his notes. “So, any new ideas?”  
   
“Well, it's a bit difficult to debunk, since the Sgt. had so much specific detail, as well as a number of other witnesses reporting similar events around the same time. As you suggested earlier, it _could_ be an Air Force experiment from the nearby base, but after the incident with the V-Wing you'd think they'd let us know about that stuff beforehand to avoid wasting so much unnecessary time and money. So, as of now, the evidence is inconclusive.”  
   
“So you're saying we need more evidence?”  
   
“If we can. I'd like to take a closer look at the site and run some tests, but I'm not sure I can make any real conclusions other than that it's inconclusive.”  
   
“ _Great_. The Generals are gonna love that.”  
   
“If they want a better explanation, _they_ can come up with it. I'm sick of covering their tracks.” He grumbled, setting the notebook aside and settling in under the covers with a huff. Michael didn't know what he was doing when he smiled, running a hand through the doctor's hair softly.  
   
_'Shit, what am I_ **_doing?_** _'_  
   
“I know. That's what makes you so damn hard to work with sometimes.” He smirked, suppressing the urge to press a brief kiss to those gentle curls.  
   
“Yeah? Well you can be pretty insufferable yourself, Captain. You trust them too much, and you're so… _confusing._ ” He muttered, sitting up and pushing Michael's hand away.  
   
“I know…” The pilot sighed, normally perfect posture melting into something… insecure. Scared. “Half the time I don't understand myself— but I'm trying. And the Generals… I'm not so sure I really trust them anymore.”  
   
Allen froze, turning back to him with a questioning stare. “What happened?”  
   
“When we were separated during that one case, Harding… He lied to me. Tested me. As if he thought I would betray them by stealing that weird thing you had. Or becoming a Communist.”  
   
“You're kidding.”  
   
“Wish I was. Then there was the thing with the military base, which I'm sure they didn't tell us everything about; and the stuff you said, about the hidden lab in the abandoned amusement park— I didn't believe you back then, but now I'm not sure why you would lie about it. Nothing about them adds up.” He bit his lip, not meeting the professor's eyes. After a moment where neither of them knew what to say he shook his head, correcting his posture and putting on a smile. “We should just get some rest. Long day tomorrow right?”  
   
Allen nodded slowly, slipping out of bed and rustling through his bag for a toothbrush, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he padded into the bathroom. As soon as the door shut Michael let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, turning to shut off his lamp and settling into the bed, facing the wall.  
   
He tried to ignore it when the doctor walked in with a small towel around his neck, his curly hair lightly tousled and free of product. Tried to ignore the other side of the bed dipping with his weight, the other lamp shutting off with a dull _click._ The pull of the blankets as Allen settled in with a soft, content sigh.  
   
“Goodnight Michael.”  
   
“Goodnight Allen.”  
   
He practically choked on the words as his throat constricted, something inside of him _begging_ him to turn around and pull the doctor close, to hold him and keep him warm throughout the night. To keep him safe. But he didn't.  
   
Instead he screwed his eyes shut, curling his hands into fists and forcing himself to just _go to sleep._  
   
Unfortunately his subconscious had other plans, and by the time he awoke he had been enveloped by a warm weight, limbs entangled around the man just in front of him, beard-riddled chin tucked into the crook of his neck. He froze, unsure what to do or say. As per usual he had woken up at the crack of dawn, and fully intended to get up and start his day, but… he also really didn't want to wake Allen up or disturb his sleep. So he stayed still, silently watching the sunrise through the curtains, waiting for the doctor to wake up on his own. Part of him wanted to stay in that moment forever, but part of him was terrified of what Allen might think when he woke up in another man's arms.  
   
Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself out of the embrace, leaving Allen alone in their bed and getting himself dressed and ready. He tried to ignore the disappointed whine and shiver Allen made once he was gone.  
   
He tried to forget that anything had even happened, and moved on with his life as if it hadn't.


	2. Young at Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> De-Aged fic

A string of strange sightings and missing persons reports lead the boys to South Carolina. Every person that went to investigate the craft turned up missing less than a few hours later, only to return the next day with no recollection of what happened or where they were. They didn't even know they were missing or that any time had passed.  
  
As usual, Quinn would question the witnesses as Hynek examined the scene of the crime— a strange metal object that crashed in the middle of a wheat field. Of course, with all of the missing persons reports, Michael was a bit hesitant to let Allen anywhere near the strange object, but he'd manage to convince him. He had to.  
  
“Come _on,_ it's integral to our investigation that I examine the object so we can make an estimation as to its origin or purpose!”  
  
“No. No way. I am _not_ letting my partner get kidnapped or zapped into another dimension or whatever the hell crackpot theory is going around about this!”  
  
“Michael, I'm not going to get kidnapped. Besides, the victims always return completely unharmed within the next 24 hours, and if I wear some sort of recording device or something then we can figure out what's happening to them and how to stop it!”  
  
The captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes for a minute. When he looked back up at Allen it was with a softer expression, eyebrows creased with worry.  
  
“You promise to stay out of trouble? To wear something we can use to find you and to stay where I can see you afterwards?”  
  
“Swear on my life.” Allen grinned, signing an X over his heart.  
  
“Alright… I guess I'll let you look at it then. But don't take too long, and you have to keep this on you at all times.” Quinn urged, pulling a strange device out of his coat and handing it to the doctor. “As soon as you're done there you come back and you find me. Got it?”  
  
“Got it. What is this?” Hynek took the device enthusiastically, examining it. It looked like some sort of handheld device with an antenna, a row of different colored lights at the top, one rapidly blinking green.  
  
“New form of tracking technology. I got it from the generals just before we left. It's still experimental, but I guess it's better than nothing. It emits a signal that can only be found by this device here.” He paused, pulling an identical device from his coat. “It's essentially a radio tuned to a specific frequency that only another tracking device can find. Like I said, they're still working out the kinks, but it's better than nothing. If you flip that switch it signals that you're in danger, and this light blinks to tell you it was received. These lights signal how close or far you are from me, red means far, yellow means close, and green means really close, and it blinks faster the closer you are. If you're facing the wrong way it'll turn back to red.”  
  
“That's… incredible. How did they know to send them with us?”  
  
“I know you by now, Doc. I asked them to make something to keep you in check about a month ago, they happened to finish it just in time. Now I can find you, and you can find me.”  
  
Allen chuckled, shoving the device in his pocket.  
  
“Alright, you go talk to our witnesses, I'll check out the crash site.”  
  
“Yeah, just… be careful Doc.”  
  
The two parted ways, Hynek wandering deep into the wheat field until he reached a clearing where the product was flattened and burnt, a giant metal object lying in the center of it.  
  
He took the usual steps to his investigation: taking pictures, collecting samples from the surrounding area, and examining the object. In the end he concluded it was part of an aircraft of some kind, something that had fallen off before a crash. Likely another government experiment.  
  
The only thing that didn't make sense was the disappearances…  
  
The next hour was spent in suspense, Michael keeping him on a tight leash as the investigation continued. For the most part he felt fine, and he insisted so every time Michael checked in on him. It was only when they were walking through the small town that he started feeling ill. Michael had calmed down a bit by then, falling in step just ahead of him and ranting on about something Allen couldn't comprehend through the ringing in his ears.  
  
“Michael…” He mumbled, stumbling and leaning on a corner of a building for balance. His head felt like it was about to explode, and he pressed his hands to his temples in an effort to dull the pain. His head was spinning and his limbs were shaking. It felt like he was either going to pass out or throw up. “What the hell is happening to me…?”  
  
Unfortunately, Michael hadn't realized he'd stopped walking until he was almost to the car, turning to address the doctor only to realize he'd vanished.  
  
“Shit, Doc?!” He shouted, pulling the tracker out of his jacket and retracing his steps, eyes wildly scanning the area for his partner. He hadn't hit the alert button, so that was hopefully a good sign.  
  
He turned a corner, heaving a sigh when he saw the familiar tan jacket and brown hat, complete with an obnoxiously red tie. He broke into a sprint and grabbing him by the shoulders.  
  
“Doc! What the hell were you thinking?! Don't scare me like that!”  
  
The wide blue eyes that met his were definitely Allen's, but everything else was off. His face was a bit too slim, and his salt-and-pepper facial hair was replaced with a smattering of dark stubble. His face appeared smoother, the smile lines around his eyes less pronounced— and much, _much_ younger. Instead of neatly styled back, a few dark brown curls fell out of his hat, and his clothes seemed just a tad too loose on him, his glasses slipping down his nose.  
  
“What's— who the hell are you?!” The young man in his partner's place pushed him away, reacting to the situation like a cornered animal. Michael took a deep breath, trying to clear his head enough to talk the doctor down as he looked down at himself, visibly confused as he removed his glasses.  
  
“Ok, Allen, calm down, it's alright.”  
  
“Allen? My— my name is Josef. Who the hell are you?”  
  
“I know, but your _middle_ name is Allen, and you started using it in college. Dr. J. Allen Hynek, right? I'm Captain Michael Quinn.”  
  
“I'm sorry, _Doctor?_ I'm afraid you're mistaken, I— I'm just a college student!” He chuckled nervously, looking around for a way out of the situation and seemingly realizing he had no idea where he was.  
  
“Look, I know you're probably really confused and… _freaked out_ right now, but I need you to trust me.”  
  
“Why should I? You just _grabbed me_ in the middle of the street!” Allen glared at him, pushing past the pilot as he removed his hat and jacket then loosened his tie, tossing the discarded items behind him, Michael picking them up as he followed.  
  
“And you have no idea where you are or how you got here, right?” Michael questioned, smirking when the doctor turned with a defiant glare.  
  
“Oh, and I assume you have the answers? Look, I don't know who you think you are but you'd better leave me alone before I call the authorities.”  
  
“I do, actually. I'd gladly give them to you if you weren't being so _difficult,_ but I guess I'll just leave you alone if you really want.” He shrugged, strutting past the young man with a smirk. Now, if he knew Allen as well as he thought…  
  
“Wait!” The young man sprinted after him, following him all the way to the car while asking questions.  
  
“I promise I'll tell you everything, but first…” He opened the passenger side door, gesturing for the man to get in. “We need to go somewhere more private.”  
  
“Oh, right. Following a stranger into his car. Let me guess, you've got some candy in the trunk, too?” Hynek crossed his arms, giving him a suspicious glare, one eyebrow raised.  
  
“Come on, I'm in the Air Force, if I kidnapped anyone I'd be in way more trouble than it's worth. Just get in, Doc. _Please?_ ”  
  
Allen stood for a second, weighing his options. In the end, his curiosity won him over.  
  
“You're lucky you're cute…” He grumbled, slumping into the seat as Michael walked around to the driver's side, starting the car.  
  
“Ok, so long story short, we investigate so called _alien encounters_ for the U.S. Air Force. We came out here for a case where people go missing after looking at this thing that crashed in a field, and you— being _you_ — decided to have a look at it. I guess the victims were just being de-aged, so no one recognized them until they were back to normal, and now you're… what, like twenty?”  
  
“Almost twenty one.”  
  
“Birthday's in May, that's right. You'd turn twenty one just before graduation…” He bit his lip, thinking.  
  
“And you said I… _investigate aliens…?_ For the government?” Allen questioned, clearly not believing him.  
  
“I know, it sounds crazy, but it makes more sense than suddenly being transported into the middle of a tiny town in South Carolina, right?”  
  
“I guess…” He sighed, leaning on his arm and staring out the window.  
  
“So, would you prefer Josef or Allen?”  
  
“Whichever.” He shrugged noncommittally, watching the buildings pass by.  
  
“Okay… So, do you need glasses yet?”  
  
“Yes. Those are too strong though.” He nodded to the discarded item, now sitting on the dashboard.  
  
“Well, if this just lasts a day like all the others then it wouldn't be worth getting a new prescription. Would you be alright without them for now?”  
  
“Yeah. I mean I wouldn't be able to read anything very well, but I'll be fine.”  
  
They sat in silence for the rest of the drive, Michael's posture tense. He needed _his_ Hynek back so he could ask him what the _hell_ was going on, but for now he would need to keep an eye on him. He'd definitely need to have a long, complicated conversation with the generals…  
  
One check-in and one exhausting discussion later, they had settled into their hotel room. They had changed into loungewear, the captain trading his stiff uniform for a short sleeved button-up and pajama pants, and the young doctor exchanging his slightly oversized suit for a pair of sweatpants and an Air Force t-shirt from Michael's luggage. By the time they'd both changed the captain was nursing a stiff drink, and Allen begun desperately trying to sneak a drink.  
  
“ _No._ ” He scolded for the hundredth time, feeling a little like he was talking to a particularly persistent cat. “I'm not gonna let you anywhere near this stuff. It's strong as hell, and you're still just a kid.”  
  
“Come on! I've been drinking since I was eighteen!”  
  
“So have I, and it sucked. You're getting a beer at best.”  
  
Allen slumped in his seat, pouting, but reaching a hand out pleadingly.  
  
“See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. You're a _kid._ ” Michael strode towards the fridge, pulling out a beer and sliding it across the table, slumping back into his seat.  
  
“I'm a college student in a fraternity. I've done _quite_ my fair share of drinking.”  
  
“I'm sure you have, but this isn't the kind of stuff you drink for fun.”  
  
“You're upset…” Hynek muttered, looking up at him with those soft blue eyes.  
  
“Yeah, no shit. I'm stuck in South Carolina with no clue what the hell’s going on because my partner— who usually explains this type of shit to me— is suddenly 20 years old with no memory of anything past college! So yeah, I'm—” He paused, sighing and dropping his head into his hands. It wasn't Allen's fault this had happened; if anything, it was his. He never should've let Hynek near that thing, but he did, and now… he had to deal with the consequences.  
  
Allen had shrunk back a bit in his seat, clutching his bottle to his chest and staring at the captain with wild eyes. He truly hadn't been expecting that kind of reaction from Michael; he'd seemed so calm about everything before…  
  
“I'm sorry, Doc, I…” Michael looked up, watching the younger man get out of his seat, purposefully striding towards the radio sitting in the corner of the room. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Well, it sounds like you need to relax.” Hynek hummed, finding a song he liked— _Meet Mister Callaghan_ — and turning to smile at him. “I thought I might help cheer you up!”  
  
Michael shook his head with an amused grin as he watched the young Allen dance around the room, moving in an odd combination of tap and swing and grinning like an idiot.  
  
“Come on! I'm not getting any younger!” He giggled, pulling the pilot to his feet and twirling around, coaxing a smile out of his partner.  
  
“Alright, alright, I concede. I'll dance with you.” Michael grinned as he intertwined their hands, leading Allen through some form of jive.  
  
By the end of the song they were both at least slightly inebriated and giggling like mad, shifting gears as the radio faded into a much softer melody. Once again Michael lead as the two swayed to _Half as Much,_ Allen leaning his head on the pilot's shoulder. They swayed in silence for a while, just listening to the song.  
  
“Michael?” The young professor's voice was low and vulnerable, and Quinn hummed in response. “Do you… Am I married? In the future?”  
  
“Yes. You have a lovely wife, Mimi, and a son named Joel. Your second marriage I think.”  
  
“And uh… Do you have any family?”  
  
“Nah, just the one back home. We don't talk much.”  
  
“Why? I mean, I kinda thought you'd at least be married.”  
  
“I dunno. I guess I just haven't met the right girl yet.” He pulled away, looking into his partner's eyes. For a moment he could swear the reflections looked like stars. “Why do you ask?”  
  
“Because— and I'm pretty sure older me would never do this…” Allen trailed off, biting his lip as his eyes flicked over Michael's face. “I don't want to ruin things between us, the future version of us, but… I only have tonight, right? And I might not even remember any of this but right here and right now I just…”  
  
Suddenly he leaned forward with his eyes screwed shut, pressing their lips together. Michael stood stock still, unable to react before Hynek pulled away, eyes still squeezed shut and posture stiff, nose scrunched up and mouth pulled into an awkward cringe.  
  
“I'm sorry, I just—” He froze, eyes flying open and shoulders tensing, sucking in a shocked breath as Michael finally returned the kiss. It was sloppy, and awkward, and God was it _wrong,_ but it was theirs. And for just that moment it was all that mattered.  
  
When they finally pulled away they just stood, staring at each other for a moment before one of them finally spoke.  
  
“ _God,_ I hope I remember this night…” The doctor breathed, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around the pilot's chest.  
  
“You might not think the same tomorrow when you have a wife and kid to go home to…” Michael chuckled, returning the embrace and leaning his chin on the far too long hair.  
  
“No, I don't mean _that_ me, I mean _this_ me. The me who's going to wake up tomorrow morning in the 30's and have to go to class in the morning and explain to everyone where I had been the whole day and… and maybe I can lock _this_ memory away for future reference, so that the next time I meet a Captain Michael Quinn I know exactly the kind of relationship I want to have with him. And maybe, one day, the older J. Allen Hynek will wake up one morning and realize that what I did tonight was really for the better…” Allen yawned, the weight of the day weighing down on his shoulders and eyelids as Michael led him to the bed, helping him under the covers.  
  
“Yeah… I hope you remember too…” He smiled fondly, running a hand through that far too brown and fluffy hair.  
   
“I don't wanna forget… I don't wanna fall asleep and forget…” Tears pricked at his vision as his eyes slid shut, vaguely registering a kiss to his forehead as he fell asleep.


	3. Pale as the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampire AU Fic

When Joel was around 4 years old, he had developed an intense fear of vampires. And not just the average _‘check in the closet and leave a nightlight’_ sort of way, but more like a _‘crying all night and genuinely fearing for his life if he sees so much as a bat’_ situation. There was no telling what had _caused_ it either: his father never left the TV on or let him read scary stories, he had no siblings to play tricks on him, and he rarely spoke to any kids at school. His babysitter Faye admitted that she had watched Twilight in front of him once, but he didn't seem to consider the Cullens real vampires.  
  
Allen was far too busy to do much to help; single parenting was tough, he had a full-time university job, and he desperately needed any rest he could get. So, he considered it a blessing in disguise when a bat had accidentally flown into his windshield on the way home one night. Maybe helping his father nurse the poor thing back to health would help him realize they were harmless.  
  
He decided to take the little thing home in an old shoebox, lid stabbed with a pen and padded with clothes he'd forgotten about in his trunk. He figured he could keep it overnight, since it was far too late to get it to a rescue center or vet, give it a bit of food and water, and show Joel that he had nothing to fear. Of course, that was all far easier said than done, but to his sleep deprived mind it seemed like a perfect idea, and he figured it'd be well worth the hassle in the end. Joel could overcome his fear, the bat would live, and he'd finally get more than ten minutes of sleep at a time.  
  
He peeked into the little box one last time before he got out of the car, checking the animal's pulse and breathing to make sure it was still alive. The last thing he wanted was to traumatize the poor kid even _more_.  
  
“How you doing little guy?” He smiled down at the little creature, getting a weak little _squeak_ in response.  
  
“Just stay calm for me, ok? I need Joel to know you won't hurt him.” It almost looked like the bat _nodded_ in his sleep deprived haze, but he dismissed it with the shake of the head. When was the last time he actually _slept_?  
  
He shut the box, hiding it behind his back as he walked through the door, smiling as Joel ran to hug him.  
  
“Dad!!!”  
  
“Hey, kiddo! I brought you something I found on the way home; but you've got to _promise_ me you won't freak out, ok?” The professor knelt beside his son, smiling as he held the box in front of him. Well, here goes nothing.  
  
“What is it?” Joel was bouncing on the balls of his feet, clapping and eagerly watching as Allen lifted the lid. Tiny black eyes peered up at him, the tiny creature unusually calm as the child screamed, running and hiding behind the couch.  
  
“It's ok! The little guy flew into my car on the way home. Come here, he won't hurt you.” Allen spoke calmly to his son as he peeked out from his hiding place.  
  
“It's a vampire!”  
  
“No, no, it's just a bat! Come here, look. I think it broke its wing. I was thinking we could look after it for tonight and take it in to the wildlife rescue in the morning.” He held the box out, smiling when Joel cautiously approached it, peering in at the bat as it let out a quiet squeak. “After we feed it I want to do some research to find out what species it is, and see if it's native to the area. I don't think I've seen one like this before.”  
  
He set the box on the dining table, filling a soda cap with water and searching for something it could eat. Its short snout and sharp teeth indicated that it fed on insects, so he tried to find something suitable, running a series of Google searches on his phone. In the end he decided to try applesauce.  
  
“Joel, come here! I want you to help me ” He put a bit of the sauce on a spoon, handing it to his son. “Just hold it out in front of the bat. If he doesn't eat it we'll need to find something else.”  
  
“Do I _have_ to…?” The kid looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Allen smiled as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, using his other hand to hold Joel's.  
  
“How about we do it together?” Joel nodded, letting him lead the spoon to the bat, eyes lighting up when it scooched forward to lap at it.  
  
“He's eating it!”  
  
“Yeah! See? I told you it was harmless.” He ruffled his son's hair, getting a giggle in response. “Now go get washed up and ready for bed. I'll find out what kind it is and then tuck you in, ok?”  
  
Joel nodded, running off to put on his pajamas.  
  
After ensuring the bat was well fed and hydrated, Allen took it to his office, removing it from the box and setting it gently on his desk. Looking closely in the better lighting, the bat had rather long brownish yellow fur, and large ears that curled back in an odd way. It was covered in odd scars: scratches along its wings, a large gash stretching across its back, and a gnarled burn-like scar in a line across the shoulder blades.  
  
“Poor thing… what the hell have you been through?” He muttered, tracing a finger along the marks. They seemed old, healing up many years ago. Far older than a bat's lifetime should be.  
  
Testing the wings, he found that the left one _had_ , in fact, been broken on impact. He cringed as the bat flinched away, letting out a pained squeak.  
  
“Geez, that looks bad… I'm so sorry.” He ran a thumb over its head, smoothing out the ruffled fur. He held back a laugh at the situation. “I can't believe I'm talking to a bat… but I have to admit, you _do_ listen far better than my ex-wife.”  
  
The bat didn't seem to mind the attention, so he continued petting it as he booted up his computer, mumbling as he typed _‘bat species identification’_ into the search bar.  
  
“Alright, little guy, let's see what you are. Rafinesque’s big-eared bat, maybe? The ears are a bit too straight though… Townsend’s? No, fur's too light… oh, hey, Allen's big-eared bat! That actually looks like you! What an odd coincidence, huh? Finding a bat with the same name as me.” He clicked on the link, reading the article. “Well, it says you guys are native to central America up to Utah, so how the hell did you get all the way to _Ohio_? Unless someone lost their exotic pet I can't think of much reason for a bat to end up so far from home.”  
  
He leaned back in his chair, staring thoughtfully at the little bat. The bat stared back.  
  
He didn't like the tiny smirk on its face.  
  
“Stay here.” He ordered, huffing a sigh and making his way to his son's room.  
  
“Did you find out what kind it was?”  
  
“I think so. Problem is I'm not quite sure where it came from, the species typically lives way further south. But I guess they'll relocate it when we take it to the wildlife center.” He shrugged, smiling as he took a seat on the edge of his bed. “You gonna need me to check for vampires tonight?”  
  
“Are you sure the bat _isn't_ a vampire…?”  
  
“Well it ate applesauce, not blood.”  
  
“But what if it was just pretending?”  
  
“Well, we could always put garlic on your door and set your clocks forward to confuse them. Do you want me to?”  
  
“No. Just be careful.”  
  
“Alright, I will. I love you, my little starlight.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead and pulling the blanket over him, shutting the door with a relieved sigh.  
  
The last thing he expected to see when he walked back to his office was a man with slicked back hair, sitting on his desk and smoking a cigarette. His arm was curled painfully to his side, forearms mottled with small scars. He was wearing slacks and a vintage bomber jacket, with dark eyes that clashed with skin as pale as the moon.  
  
“It's Allen, right?”  
  
“Who the hell— how did you get in my house?!”  
  
“I needed to talk to you. Didn't expect you to break my _arm_ , though. Hurts like a bitch.”  
  
“Wha…” He trailed off, eyes flicking to the spot he'd left the bat. It wasn't there, and it couldn't fly away with a broken wing… “You— where's the bat?”  
  
The man laughed, shaking his head and fixing him with a grin, his eyes shining with what can only be described as _mischief_.  
  
“I know, it seems crazy— you go your whole life convincing yourself this kinda stuff doesn't exist and then one day you're stuck in the middle of some stupid fairytale wondering when your life got so weird. I used to be the same as you, and now look at me…” His smile faded into something more like a sneer, extinguishing his cigarette in an ashtray that _definitely_ wasn't on his desk before. “My name's Michael Quinn. You don't know me, but I know an awful lot about you, Dr. Hynek.”  
  
The stranger flashed a grin, two razor sharp _fangs_ catching Allen's eye. This couldn't be happening. He probably passed out on his desk and started dreaming or something.  
  
“What— what do you want? Why are you here?”  
  
“My… _family_ and I have been keeping an eye on you for a while. Unfortunately we ended up scaring your son— sorry about that, by the way— but we needed to know about _you_.”  
  
“M— me? I'm an astrophysics professor!”  
  
“Yes, I know. I meant your… well, I'm not sure how to put it. You're not normal. You always manage to evade trouble when you're _obviously_ in the wrong, you can survive on an absolutely _abysmal_ diet and sleep schedule, and somehow, whenever someone _really_ upsets you, they end up in some sort of trouble. Usually only as bad as whatever they did to you.”  
  
“So? That's probably just coincidence!”  
  
“Ok, but what about your scent?”  
  
“My… _what_?”  
  
“Your _scent_ , you smell like magic. That weird electrical, ozone-y smell; it's all over your office.” He stated it very matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious.  
  
“I have no idea what you're—” Allen paused, catching a hint of red in those dark brown eyes as the other man heaved an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair and walking towards the doctor. For some reason, he didn't feel as threatened as he probably should've been.  
  
“Alright, I didn't think I'd need to do this but _clearly_ you're still confused, so let me make things simple. I'm a vampire, my coven is dedicated to hiding the existence of the supernatural from humans because they're panicky and violent. _You_ aren't human, and recently you and your son have been making that _very_ noticeable. That's why I'm here. I want to help keep you out of trouble.”  
  
They stood there, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, the younger-looking man seemingly challenging him to question him. Allen really just wanted this to be over with, letting out a tired sigh and speaking slowly. He wasn't quite sure why he was willing to deal with this.  
  
“Well, I'm not sure if this is the sleep deprivation talking l, or my son's wild imagination rubbing off on me but… I guess I'll believe you. If only to humor you.” He smirked, tilting his head slightly, fully aware of how much it would bother the supposed _vampire_ as Michael's eyes wandered to his neck. “So what am I, then?”  
  
“Uh. Current theory is fairy or witch.” His eyes flicked to Allen's face, scowling at his knowing grin. “ _Definitely_ some sort of trickster. Do you have any other questions? Or are you gonna keep teasing me?”  
  
“How did you get those scars? On your back?”  
  
“World War Two. I was a pilot, got turned on the battlefield by a guy in my unit. I was dying, he used his blood to save me. The wounds I got when I was human had already started healing and scarring, so being a vampire didn't really help them.” Allen nodded, biting his lip thoughtfully. Michael glared at his exposed neck. “Anything else?”  
  
“What's true? About vampires?”  
  
“Well, we don't drink blood that often, just… when we need to heal.”  
  
“Like right now?”  
  
Michael nodded, a strained noise escaping his throat.  
  
“What would happen to me if you bit me?”  
  
“Nothing. Just a quick prick, a bit of… well, _sucking_ , to put it bluntly, then it's done. It'd leave a mark, of course. Not much I can do about that.”  
  
“...Would you like to? The blood, I mean.”  
  
“Only if you let me.”  
  
Allen worried his lip. Surely this was a dream, and if it isn't… well, he'd at least have something to prove that it happened in the morning. What harm could it do? He nodded, closing his eyes as Michael leaned forward, tilting his head.  
  
It went by so quick he almost didn't think it had happened. A prick, a slight sucking sensation, and he was done. The only thing reminding him that it had happened was the faint trickle of blood, slowly dripping down his neck.  
  
“That's it…?”  
  
“I didn't need much.” Michael muttered, wiping the excess from his lips and handing the professor a handkerchief— with his previously broken arm. “Apply pressure. Should heal up alright.”  
  
Allen nodded again, following Michael's instructions.  
  
“What happens now?”  
  
“We need to talk to my leader, Harding. He can help us figure out what you are, then… either you figure out how to control it on your own, or you live under my protection. _Now_ , though, you need to get some sleep. Would you like me to leave?”  
  
“No, just… don't let my son see you like this. He has enough nightmares as is. Do you sleep?”  
  
“In the day, yes. For now I'll stay in here. The box you made is… decent. Use it to get me out of the house in the morning so I'm not in the sun. I'll see you then.”  
  
There was a puff of smoke and he was gone, replaced by the tiny bat, flying perfectly fine now. Allen laughed in disbelief, watching the tiny thing make itself comfortable on the desk with a squeak, waving a wing to shoo him away.  
  
He was still convinced he was dreaming… but maybe he didn't _want_ to be.


	4. A Brilliant Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scar Fic

The first time Allen saw Michael shirtless was, surprisingly enough, during a case about a month after they'd started dating. As fate would have it, they'd been forced into a witnesses home by a bad storm, clothes already soaked by the rain. Thankfully their hosts were willing to provide a spare room and some dry clothes in exchange for their help with the case.  
  
The doctor had been sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in a pair of pajamas and running a towel through his hair. Michael was hanging up his uniform in nothing but his undershirt and boxers, which had thankfully remained _mostly_ dry. He pulled on a pair of pajama pants and peeled off his damp shirt, revealing a twisted and mangled line across his shoulders. A scar— one of many, but the first Allen noticed. There was another running along his back in a jagged line, seemingly having healed far better than the other, but he didn't pay much mind to it.  
  
“Oh my God… Michael, is that— are those from the crash?” Allen gasped, letting the towel drape around his neck as he stood. He couldn't help but worry that he had caused it.  
  
“What? Oh! No, they’re all from the war. If they were from the crash they would've healed better; they would've been treated properly. _This_ is from a bullet in Kohlberg; barely missed me. One of the other guys had to patch it up with a spare shirt.” Michael turned to look at him as he explained, reaching to feel the scar across his shoulders. “The other one's from a crash near Berlin. Scraped along some shrapnel while getting out of the cockpit. _That_ one was a bit of a mess.”  
  
“Oh… I'm sorry, I just— I was worried. I thought I might've…” The doctor whispered, worrying his lip awkwardly. “The crash during our first case never would've happened if it weren't for me. I was afraid that maybe my stupid _stubbornness_ could've caused something worse than a broken arm.”  
  
“Aw, Doc, you were worried about me!” Michael teased, wrapping his arms around the doctor's waist with a large grin.  
  
“Of course I worry… you went to _war_ , Michael. I can't even imagine some of the things you've been through, and you're always _acting_ like it's not a big deal but I've seen the way you get about it!” Allen sighed, wrapping his arms around the pilot's neck “I'm sorry, it's just… you're still so young, and you've been through so much. You've had your youth taken from you…”  
  
“But it lead me to you. So I don't mind.” Michael smiled, the two swaying slightly to a melody in their heads.  
  
“Well, if you don't mind, how about you tell me some of the stories behind these things?” The professor gave him a cheeky grin, pulling him towards the bed and sitting back down, the pilot sitting beside him with a roll of his eyes.  
  
“Well, most of them don't have stories. The scrapes on my arms are just from training and crawling on the battlefield. Some are from the Berlin crash, shards of glass. I've got a tattoo right here, that's a unit crest.” He pointed to a mark on his shoulder: a snake-like creature with what appeared to be three heads, which formed the nose and engines of the plane, a bolt of lightning striking between it's coils.  
  
“A kid named Brett Hancock and I got drunk during our downtime and thought it'd be funny to get each other's units tattooed on us. Our Sergeants didn't agree.” Michael chuckled, smiling fondly at the memory.  
  
“What does it say? Below it?”  
  
“That's… it's his callsign. _Matches_.”  
  
“What does it mean?”  
  
“Well, he had this bad habit of uh… messing around with matches. Twirling them around, sticking them in his mouth, that kinda stuff. Well, one day this kid's working near the fuel tanks and manages to accidentally _light_ the damn thing! And he's so shocked he just drops it— less than a foot away from the gas tanks! He got a bunch of shit for almost burning us all to death, and the nickname just… stuck.” His smile faded as his eyes lost their focus, drifting downwards.  
  
“We had a mission together. We just had to fly over the battlefield and see if we could find any survivors, then report back to the medics their locations so they could help them. Well, there were some Germans on the ground doing the same thing, and uh… one of them landed a lucky shot. Hit him right in the engines, caused an explosion. The medics didn't make it in time to save him.”  
  
Allen stared at his partner as a couple tears trailed down his cheeks, not quite sure what to say. He'd never seen the captain cry before…  
  
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up any painful memories, I just—”  
  
“It's ok. It was a long time ago, it's just… he had a girl back home, and a kid on the way. I had _nothing_ waiting for me. Sometimes I wish I'd been the one shot down…”  
  
“Michael, please don't say that.” Allen begged, cupping Michael's cheeks and pulling his gaze back towards him. He wiped the tears away with his thumbs, giving his boyfriend a sad smile. “I know the effect war can have on you, and when you lose someone it can feel unfair, but if you had died in that plane it wouldn't fix anything. Brett would be here thinking the exact same things about you. You may not have had a family to go home to but he would mourn the future you should've had. No matter what happens, death and pain will always exist, and you can't let it define you. You need to move past it, and just… move on.”  
  
Tears sprung to his eyes as he thought back on his parents, both taken far too soon from him. He wasn't even out of high school when his father left him, and his mother followed soon after.  
  
He was pulled from his thoughts by a soft chuckle, his partner wiping away his tears and pressing a kiss to his forehead.  
  
“I guess we both have our scars, huh?”  
  
His confused glare melted into a soft smile, planting a brief kiss on Michael's lips and winding his arms around his neck, looking into those beautiful brown eyes dazedly.  
  
“Yeah, I guess we do: and I wouldn't want you any other way.”


	5. Like a Moth to Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monster/Hunter AU Fic

Another long drive to hunt down a creature he only had a small file of information on; another cigarette on the bumpy dirt roads of Ohio and West Virginia searching for the same thing.  
  
A shadowy, man-like creature with raging red eyes and a ten-foot wingspan, causing disasters and stealing away pets and— in some stories, kids. Likely as a source of food.  
  
Michael sighed, pulling his old, beat up Chevy into the grass near where the creature was last sighted. He stomped the last of the cigarette butt into the dirt before popping open the trunk, checking all his weapons. Silver bullets, iron, salt, wooden stakes, holy water, crosses, flash light, matches, and various sharp instruments/guns. Your basic monster hunting gear.  
  
Once he checked they were all prepped and loaded he strapped the various items in place: a pistol, strapped securely around his shoulders in case it was a harpy, a cross, displayed clearly on his neck, in case it was an angel, ear plugs, hung loosely around his neck in case it was a siren, and an iron blade stashed in a leather holster, in case it was something else. All of this was hidden by a layer of black leather, kept unzipped for easy access. He should be prepared for any situation.  
  
He shut the trunk and held up the flashlight, venturing into the abandoned area where the creature was seen heading towards multiple times. It was believed the beast had made a nest for itself in an old military storage site.  
  
He crept through the desolate ammunition facility with relative ease, feeling at home in the military setting that reminded him of his days in the Air Force. He'd been inspired to join after hearing the stories of the pilots in WWII, and he always had a fascination with flying… it was a shame his dreams were replaced with broken wings.  
  
He got in a bad crash, almost caused the death of a friend by showing off. He was lucky to get off as easy as he did. He was grounded and given a new job— track down and kill the things that go bump in the night. The things other people wouldn't even dream of. Protect and serve, without anyone knowing what you're protecting them _from_.  
  
It was lonely, but it was better than a dishonorable or bad conduct discharge, so he went with it.  
  
He slowly opened the door to the storage unit, the old metal letting out a low _creak_. He heard something skitter out of sight, shining his light in the direction he thought he heard the noise. The reverberations in the small space were awful.  
  
“I know you're in here. I don't want any trouble, so just come out and we can talk, ok?”  
  
Something moved again, and he whipped around to face it, gun at the ready. He slowly made his way to the spot, hands steady.  
  
“Look, I don't want anyone to get hurt, so just come out. There's no need to hide.”  
  
A shadow flitting across his vision, a brief _bang_ from the muzzle of his gun, and a hole in the wall. All in the span of a second.  
  
“Alright, you wanna play games? _Fine_.” He hissed, stalking towards the boxes it was hiding behind and kicking them over.  
  
There was a terrible screeching noise, as well as what sounded like a child, as the thing skittered away in fear, a few more rounds barely missing it.  
  
“Come _on_!” Michael snarled, scolding himself. He should've had it by now!  
  
Two red eyes stared at him from the darkness, but when he pointed the flashlight all he saw was a storage shed. Rows and rows of boxes and equipment.  
  
All of a sudden he heard a noise— a soft… _cooing_ noise, like a man trying to imitate an owl, or making noises to a child. His brows furrowed, stance softening and gun slightly lowered as he tried to quietly approach.  
  
The noise stopped as it was just out of view, everything eerily still as the hunter paused to listen.  
  
A head poked out from the aisles, peering up at him with big blue eyes, hidden behind thick frames. Two fuzzy, black antennae poked out from his silver and brown hair, a clawed black hand curling around the edge of the shelves. His eyes seemed to reflect, like a cat's eyes, in red. Black fuzz framed his face and poofed out at his neck, like a moth's coat, or an overly-fuzzy scarf. His clothes were surprisingly average, aside from a brightly colored and patterned tie and a collection of small adornments like pins and rings smattered on his frame: a tie clip with a tiny green alien head, a couple space-related pins on his shirt, and a large turquoise ring on his left hand.  
  
He was shaking, tears in those hypnotic blue eyes as he seemed to plead for Michael to leave him alone. He was terrified; rightfully so, the hunter realized as he holstered his gun. He had been attacked in his home.  
  
“Oh, hey. I— I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare you. I just… well, I _told_ you I just wanted to talk! Then you jumped out at me!”  
  
The man squeaked, pouting and shaking his head, making odd gestures that vaguely resembled sign language with his claws. He tried to avoid moving his left arm too much, the black, red, and silver moth-wing curling around his side, leading Michael to assume it was injured. He reached forward in an attempt to help, but the moth-like man shrunk back, squeaking again in fear.  
  
“Hey, it's alright. I wanna help. Did I hurt you?”  
  
The man hesitated, slowly shaking his head no, moving the arm to reveal a young boy clinging to his side fearfully. Michael kneeled, sinking to the kid's eye level.  
  
“Can you speak?”  
  
“Y— yes, sir. Are we in trouble…?”  
  
“No, of course not. Can you tell me your name?”  
  
“Joel…”  
  
“Right, you're the one that went missing. Your parents are Mimi and James Kingston, right?”  
  
Joel's eyes filled with tears, looking down and nodding, his hands shaking at his father's name. The creature kneeled as well, wrapping an arm around the boy and squeezing his shoulder gently.  
  
“Is Mom ok?” He choked on a sob, lip quivering. It was then that Michael noticed the bruised brow and bloody lip, and he began putting the pieces together.  
  
“She's alright, just worried. Your father, he hurt you?” The kid nodded, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Has he ever tried to hurt your mother?”  
  
“Once, I think. I made him hit me instead.” He looked up sadly, sniffling. “Do I have to go back?”  
  
“I… I think so, yeah. But I might be able to help you and your mother out of that situation once we get back.”  
  
“Really?” The kid smiled, a light in his eyes as he looked up, Michael giving him a nod and ruffling his hair.  
  
“Sure thing, kid. I gotta talk to your friend here first, ok? How about you wait outside?”  
  
“Ok!” Joel was practically beaming, running out of the small shelter energetically. The moth creature let out a noise similar to a chuckle, smiling as he watched the kid leave.  
  
“So, you can't talk?” The hunter stood, offering a hand to the other man. He stood, shaking his head in response.  
  
“Can you write?” The creature nodded, smiling in response. “Alright, cool. You got a name?”  
  
The man knelt down, tracing a finger through the dust and dirt on the floor. Michael had to bend over and shine his light at a weird angle to make out the words.  
  
“Allen… Hi— Hynek? Allen Hynek?”  
  
The creature— Allen— squealed happily, nodding and clapping his hands.  
  
“Well, Allen, my name is Michael Quinn. I want to help protect you, but I need you to do a couple things for me.” Allen tilted his head, nodding softly to indicate he was listening. “First of all, stop kidnapping children. I get that you probably have good intentions and whatever but just… let CPS do their job, OK? Secondly, you've _gotta_ stop flying over public areas. You're freaking people out. Ok? Can you do that?”  
  
Allen nodded, grinning and extending a hand, which Michael accepted, shaking it once in agreement.  
  
“Alright. I guess I'll see you around, then. It was nice meeting you, _Mothman_.” The hunter smirked playfully, stepping out into the cold night air and lighting a cigarette. He'd need to come back and do more research on moth-human hybrids, but at the moment his concern was getting a kid and mother out of an abusive home.  
  
He may or may not have noticed a pair of reflective red eyes and flapping wings following him and Joel back to the car.


	6. Little Lavender Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flower/Tattoo Shop AU Fic

Allen had been running the flower shop with his wife for almost ten years now, and he always saw the same faces. Joel's teacher Mrs. Johnson, who wanted a fresh centerpiece for her dining room every month, Sarah Bright, who couldn't keep a plant alive to save her life and came in for tips and a replacement plant every now and then— he'd opted to just give her a nice cactus and a care sheet, or a fake plant. Mimi didn't agree on the second option.  
  
There was also Mr. Starly, who kept a lovely greenhouse on his farm and kept coming in for new specimens, and young James Davis, who had a new girl to impress every other week. Every day was the same, and nothing _ever_ changed. There wasn't a person in town he didn't see at least once.  
  
It got kinda boring after a while.  
  
Things finally started to change when the tattoo parlor set up shop in the empty lot across the street. Allen spent many hours just… _observing_ the man next door as he unloaded the trucks of furnishings and equipment. His hair was perfectly slicked back, aside from a few wily strands, falling into his face and sticking to his sweat. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal well-toned arms covered in black ink.  
  
Ok, so _maybe_ he was staring. It wasn't exactly a crime; his 'wife’ was really just a friend he had married to keep up appearances. A ‘Lavender Marriage,’ as it was called in the community. More about convenience than love. Mimi had a previous relationship that ended in a bastard child and a single mother. Allen took the roll as father and husband to support both Joel and Mimi. Luckily she found happiness in a woman named Susie, recovering from an abusive relationship, and Allen… well, Allen was still alone, and _very_ interested in their new neighbors.  
  
Unfortunately, he wasn't quite used to _initiating_ conversations, let alone _relationships_ …  
  
“Are you going to stare at him all day, or are you gonna introduce yourself?”  
  
“Mimi! I wasn't— You know I can't— I don't—” He groaned, burying his head in his hands. “I'm a mess, Mimi. I haven't spoken to anyone _new_ in years! I'd just make myself look stupid!”  
  
“Well why don't you bring him a bouquet as a little welcome gift? Start by telling him your name maybe?” Mimi smirked, leaning on the counter with her arms crossed.  
  
“Ok, tone down the sass, my loving wife.” Allen sighed, rolling his eyes and dragging himself away from the window to water some hydrangeas. “That _is_ a good idea though. I could throw together some daffodils, some anthurium, ranunculus, yellow and green roses, maybe a bit of peony…”  
  
“Alright, let's not overthink it, Doctor Botany.” Mimi muttered, watching Allen flit around the store gathering flowers, arranging them delicately.  
  
“I can't help it! You know thinking is my strong suit…”  
  
“Yes, I _know_. You don't need a doctorate to own a flower shop, Allen.”  
  
“Well, I wanted to know what I was doing. And it was an _excellent_ excuse for me to study astronomy for eight years.”  
  
“Of course. Now are you gonna go talk to that cute tattoo artist, or can I have him?”  
  
“Alright! Alright! I'm going!” He grinned, hiding the bouquet behind his back and stepping out the door. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves before making his way across the street.  
  
By now the truck was preparing to leave, and the new guy was busy positioning all of his furniture in the small space. It looked good so far, previous work framed in the front hallway, a darkly stained wooden desk partially blocking the walkway to a larger room where the stranger was setting up the tattoo chairs, or whatever they were called.  
  
He paused, turning to face Allen at the sound of the bell, affixing him with those dark brown eyes and slowly walking towards him.  
  
“Uh, I'm sorry, but we won't be open until tomorrow. Today I'm just setting up.”  
  
“Oh! No, I— I just came to—” Allen flinched, abruptly cut off by a sneeze.  
  
“I… I'm sorry, I just— did you… did you bring me flowers, by any ch—” The tattoo artist paused, another sneeze wracking is body. Allen frowned, confused, and brought the bouquet out from behind his back. Well, there goes the surprise…  
  
“Uh, yeah, I…” He trailed off, gears turning in his head. “Oh my god, you're allergic! I'm _so_ sorry, I should've asked first, but I wanted to surprise you, and—”  
  
He was cut off by another sneeze, scrambling to get the flowers out of the enclosed space and carefully tossing them just outside the door and stepping back into the tattoo parlour, an embarrassed blush on his face.  
  
“I'm sorry, I just… I'm Allen. Hynek. I own the little flower shop across the street, and I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, but now I just look like an _idiot_!” He buried his face in his hands, the other man laughing lightly with a short sniffle.  
  
“Hey, I've had worse introductions! I'm Michael Quinn, my buddy Brett and I are running the shop together. Right now he's taking the truck back to the rental place, but I'm sure he'd love to meet you.”  
  
“Uh, I actually just wanted to talk to you… I know its kinda forward but I saw you working earlier and I thought you were cute and I was _really_ hoping you would be at least a little bit interested in men?”  
  
Michael laughed, running a hand through his hair and smiling.  
  
“Well, I don't know, how about I tell you after our first date? No flowers, though.”  
  
“Of course. How about dinner on Friday? I know a bar downtown that's gay friendly. I hear they have incredible drinks.”  
  
Michael smiled, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand with a wink.  
  
“It's a date.”  
  
Allen nodded, grabbing the bouquet and running back to his store, Mimi waiting at the door. Her smile fell as she saw the bouquet still in his hands.  
  
“Oh no, what did he say?”  
  
“I have a date on Friday!” He squealed, practically buzzing as he worked on preserving the bouquet to be sold later. “Only issue was a uh… severe pollen allergy, so I'll have to try getting him some hypoallergenic _fake_ flowers instead. I might finally get that Halley's Comet tattoo I've always wanted!”  
  
“Oh my god that's _great_! I'm so proud of you!” Mimi bounced, clapping excitedly and wrapping him in an embrace, laying a kiss on his cheek. “My little hubby, finally putting himself out there and making new friends!”  
  
“Alright, alright, now get back to work before I file for divorce!” Allen joked, pushing his wife off of him, daydreaming about slicked back hair and muscular tattooed arms as he tended to the tulips.


End file.
